


Brave enough

by nerdy-flower (baconnegg)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Another modern au? why not, Everyone's Doing Their Best, Fluff and Smut, Genji Shimada is a Little Shit, Genji is a chef, Gentle dom zen, Hanzo is a good brother, Human Zenyatta, Impact Play, Jesse and Genji are BFFs, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Multi, NB Zenyatta, Oral Sex, PIV Sex, Praise Kink, Service Kink, Shimada parents are alive and cool, Switching, TBH I tried to write smut and wrote angst and fluff with porn, Toys, why am i like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-19 05:49:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19969048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baconnegg/pseuds/nerdy-flower
Summary: After escaping their old life and years of bad decisions, Genji's finally standing on his own two feet. He's not doing as well as he could be, but Zenyatta can make it all go away for a little while. For now, it's enough.





	Brave enough

**Author's Note:**

> CWs (unrelated to the sexytimes, just to be clear): brief blood/injury mention, brief vomit mention (both non-graphic), addiction recovery and brief relapse

On Mondays, the restaurant is closed and Zenyatta's carpet is soft beneath Genji's knees. 

“How's your ankle been?” Genji flicks open the bottle of peppermint lotion, carefully taking the delicate foot that's held out for his inspection. 

“Quite painless since they removed the stitches.” Zenyatta smiles kindly down at him as he sweeps a thumb below the thin scar. Always kindly, if slightly wicked at times. Wrapped in a near-translucent tunic of warm colours and blooming patterns, aubergine leggings beneath. Their amber eyes gleam in the natural light filtering in from the narrow skylight above. 

Pretty as a monarch butterfly in human form. That was Genji's first coherent thought when he glanced away from a suspension demonstration at a surprisingly boring dungeon party to find a certain tall, freckled, and gorgeous taking the seat beside him. Passing easily for twenty-five or thirty-five, leaning their weight on a small cane painted holographic blue. 

He still remembers watching the scar across Zenyatta's upper lip stretch as they smiled demurely, noticing his noticing them. _“I haven't seen you before. Tell me, what brings you here?”_

Trying to find more stimulation than cybering could provide and so far not finding it in the sparse local kink scene wasn't a good answer. Genji shrugged and returned the smile. _“Nothing special, I just really love talking to attractive strangers.”_

They had laughed, hushed and cute, then reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Genji's ear. _“What a coincidence, so do I.”_

Genji dips to kiss the curve of their foot, turning his attention to a proper massage with the lotion warmed in his hands. He watches their toes curl as he works his thumbs into the arches, fascinated with every subtle movement. 

“You are spoiling me tonight, pet.” Zenyatta hums, tilting Genji's chin up with the foot he isn't attending to. “Is there something you wish to tell me?” 

Genji shifts under their gaze, anticipation prickling the back of his neck. “We can't do the waxplay tonight. I was fixing the railing this morning and got sunburned.” 

Zenyatta tuts, sighing into the fist curled at their mouth. “Oh dear, and I was so looking forward to it. You know what this means, don't you?” 

Genji nods, hands coming to rest on his lap, fingers curled tight. 

Zen smiles, nodding encouragingly at him. “Wash up, then. I'll meet you inside.” 

Zenyatta's bedroom is the essence of comfort. Lovingly curated bookshelves and pastel fabrics stretched across every surface, a few small mementos behind a glass-doored cabinet above their computer desk. Neat, but scattered enough not to feel like a museum. Wholly the opposite of Genji's own room, and yet he feels so welcome here, so safe. 

Another stinging, open-palmed slap lands on his bare ass, making him whimper, another tug on the roots of his hair to keep his face up. “Don't fuss, it's nearly done. Now, keep counting.” 

Genji's tongue feels clumsy, but he manages it, because Zenyatta asked him to. 

It's rather brief, but Genji's already floating by the time Zenyatta kisses the nape of his neck, whispering praise that has his mind unravelling. Tangled thoughts coming loose and leaving him with only sensation. Cool slick brushes across his shoulders, smelling of green. “Nn, you don't have to-” 

“I want to,” Zen answers simply, working the aloe into the mild burn across his shoulders, in contrast with the dissipating heat of the handprints. “You know, you can just ask for a spanking. Risking skin cancer really isn't necessary.” 

Genji laughs into the pillow he's hugged to his chest. “It wasn't on purpose, honest. I thought I was safe because it was cloudy.” 

“Ah, then you've learned a lesson, at least.” Zenyatta chuckles, like the tinkling of a bell, and continues tending to Genji in the pleasant silence. 

It's this simplicity he longs for the rest of the week, that he was never able to find with assorted Internet hook-ups. He follows commands and gets praised, or he doesn't, gets punished, and it's over. Nothing is held over his head, nothing comes back to haunt him, not in the nearly two years they've been at this. 

Zen scratches gently across his scalp as he drifts back to Earth. “Are you still up for penetration tonight?” 

Genji lifts his head and nods eagerly, until he sees the string of flexible silicone anal beads Zen's brandishing. “No way can I take all of those.” 

Zenyatta's grin returns, cheeky as ever. “Well, certainly not with that attitude.” 

Come the end of their play, Zen washes and bundles Genji against his side, music playing softly through their phone. Here he is lovely and dear, perfect and brave. Here he can be good, for at least a little while. 

They kiss good-night in the entryway and Zen bids him to text when he's home safe, which he always does even though there's nothing to fear in the still dark. Up the hill and across the town littered with bistros and galleries and tourist traps of the quaintest type. The air hums with distant activity even now, every room for rent brimming with sightseers and families with their eyes on the beach or out-of-town wineries. Summer comes earlier every year. 

Up the locked stairs in back of the bookshop and around a tight corner, he finds himself home again. Hanzo is sprawled on the couch in sweats, eating one of those single-slice grocery store cakes and watching makeup tutorials on his laptop. He waves sleepily at Genji as he passes by, mouth full. To each their own way of unwinding. 

In the morning, Hanzo heads downstairs to open the bookstore-café combo he's been made manager of through sheer ass-busting. Genji scrubs away the taste of Zenyatta's lips and bikes to their mother's restaurant. He's only a line cook for now, but if he can keep his shit together he'll get to be a sous chef. Maybe. 

Cooking requires both of his hands and just enough of his brain to keep him present. The rapid movements of a knife or the swish-flick of a pan feels the way ballet looks. Tonkatsu, yakisoba, oyako don- he can make them, fix them, feed people. It's hot, hard fucking work, and fun so long as one of the new hires doesn't throw a wrench into things. Even when they do, it isn't so bad. 

“Hey.” He catches the eye of their latest summer help, a college girl still teary after dropping and shattering a finished plate. “Relax, okay? Shit happens.” 

He feels relieved when she wipes her eyes on her sleeve and smiles a bit, then dives back into the fray when his mother calls out for more udon. Sharp but never undeservedly mean, despite all she had to give up to stand at the front of the kitchen. Despite what Genji had put her through. 

He wants to blame their proximity for feeling like he's always performing at work, but it's more than the weight of her eyes. Some of the staff still remember, and the old owner, shuffling in every day at noon for his complementary lunch, certainly does. It's barely a relief when the next shift taps his shoulder and takes over his station. 

“Take this to your father.” She drops a second heavy to-go container in his hands during the buzzing calm of dinner prep. “He's caught a bad summer cold.” 

That explains his absence in their usual booth, and why he's asleep in the recliner he usually works in when Genji arrives. But if there's one thing the Shimadas have in common, they all wake up for food. 

“Did you refill your inhaler?” Genji calls out while doing the dishes. “I don't want you getting pneumonia again.” 

“That was one time,” Sojiro answers from the other room, followed by a thick cough. “I'm fine, don't fret. It's a beautiful day, go and have fun.” 

_Like he needs the encouragement,_ Hanzo's voice wells up from memory. Genji bites his cheek and forces it back down. 

He's a little disappointed when he strolls through the bookstore and doesn't find McCree. It's more fun hanging around the counter and bugging Hanzo when he's here. Angela's probably too busy as usual. Oh well, another night in is more money saved. He's already paid tuition outright, but he'll need to hang on to every last dime for rent and groceries unless he can find a less murderific roommate situation. 

He showers, tosses his whites in the hamper, and rummages for snacks in the kitchen. Still in his towel, he flops onto his bed and watches mindless YouTube until a text dings in. 

**JM:** It's tomorrow, right? 

Genji blows out a breath before answering. 

**GS:** Hell yeah 

**JM:** Congrats man <3 proud of u 

Five years sober, his longest streak by fifty-five months. He doesn't want a pin or a hug or anything, he just wants to forget being so young, dumb, and willing to take a flamethrower to every chance handed to him. Actually, if he could remember and everyone else could forget, that would be fan-fucking-tastic. 

**GS:** Thanks bro, can't believe you remembered 

**JM:** Ofc! Graduating class of we made it, mfers 

**JM:** Falling asleep already but ttyl, do something nice for yourself tomorrow! 

Scratch that, him and McCree and no one else. Rehab brought them together, and Genji isn't willing to give that up. He's on dinner shift tomorrow, maybe he'll visit the farm instead of waiting for McCree to come to him. It's a long ride, but maybe he can get a lift back- 

**ZT:** I finally purchased something off my wishlist, do you want to try it next time? 

**View 1 attachment**

A telescoping spreader bar with faux-leather cuffs, freshly unpacked on the end of Zenyatta's bed. 

**GS:** For you or me? 

**ZT:** Whatever suits the mood!

**ZT:** Provided you're good, that is ^-^ but if you're not, I always have a back-up plan~ 

Genji laughs to himself, biting his lip and reaching down to rub at the half-chub hardening between his legs. Zenyatta is unique amongst his kinkier hook-ups in many ways. Most others were keen on strictly topping or bottoming, which was fine, but to be entrusted with binding and pleasing Zenyatta after a year of their scenes is both a gift and the ultimate service, one he's all too happy to provide. 

After a little more flirting and a few exchanged pictures, he trades his towel for boxers and crawls under the covers, resigning himself to being too tired to jerk off. Instead, with only the quiet street noises below for background noise, he lets himself imagine the one thing that always sends him right off. The one fantasy he'll never share with Zen. 

A few knocks lift him out of the haze between REM and wakefulness, Hanzo's voice rough beyond the door. “Breakfast.” 

Hanzo has no passion for cooking, but he's really good at making breakfast food. They eat in companionable silence, both playing on their phones. He doesn't comment on Genji's anniversary because he doesn't remember. 

Unbeknownst to him, while Genji was exploding, Hanzo had been quietly imploding. He had more excuses to day-drink, admittedly. He was sneakier about it too, he must have had a flask or something. Or maybe nobody was paying close attention, the four of them so splintered for so long. Genji hadn't so much as suspected anything until he completed his program and Dad picked him up. Unable to look him in the eye, he explained that Hanzo wasn't home, he was in the hospital on a three-day hold. He remained there for six long months. 

Hanzo twitches suddenly, mouth full. “There's a shiny Squirtle in here.” 

Genji grunts in surprise. “Really? Catch his blue ass.” 

A few balls and Hanzo's steady thumb succeed, and he accepts Genji's victorious fistbump. He's doing better. He's no longer the gaslit, overwhelmed, and angry young man who purposefully shoved him into a plate glass window during an argument, leaving him scarred and half-full of donated blood. His thoughts, while still mostly unknown to Genji, are his own. 

The longer Genji waits to tell him, the more of an asshole he is. Two months is sufficient notice for any other roommate, right? He could move someone else up here in that time, maybe Satya. They'd make good roomies. 

“Is it storytime today?” 

“Yes it is, and no, you can't come.” Hanzo tosses a smirk his way, setting his dish in the sink. Already dressed and pressed, lunch packed. Changed as they are, him and Dad still hold themselves to exacting standards. 

“What if I find a toddler? Then can I join?” 

A huff of laughter from the entryway. “That's kidnapping, so still no.” 

How rude. He teases, but he had still genuinely enjoyed his brother's rendition of _Stellaluna._

He checks his bank balances and student account to feed an incipient compulsion. Nothing to do but wait, or look for housing again. He chooses neither and rides out to the rescue farm to walk the alpacas, then home to change and back to work. A late supper with his parents and brother in the booth nearest the kitchen doors. A soft pillow to collapse into at the end of the night. 

It isn't such a bad life. But it's a dishonest one, to a degree. Every action, every word chosen with the intent to reaffirm, to broadcast. _I'm fine, I don't need help, look how together I am now. Don't worry about me._

His mind spins even when everything's going right. Meds only get him halfway there. He can only find real peace during his evenings with Zenyatta, their messages throughout the week teasing him like the slide of a stocking-covered foot up the centre of his chest. 

“Strip for me?” Zenyatta chuckles low from their perch on the end of the bed, as if it's a question. “Slowly- oh, very good. You're definitely earning your treat tonight, pet.” 

Bigger fools have lived for less, Genji supposes in his foggier moments. 

Opening up about his humiliation kink was one of his worst best decisions. Zenyatta will sit him in the middle of the living room- sometimes astride a toy, sometimes in ropes or cuffs, sometimes both -and have him put on a show. The drapes in front of the door leading to the tiny backyard are only barely opaque, and theoretically the upstairs neighbour could be working on the roof and glimpse them through the skylight- 

“At your sides,” Zen commands when Genji nears his peak for the third time, drinking in the sight of him as he struggles and bites back a whine. “Oh, don't be shy. You know I love hearing you.” 

As much as he aches to finally come, Genji favours the aftermath. Where Zenyatta will part their legs and permit him between, sated and content to lap and suckle and kiss as Zen gasps and writhes. The sweet taste, the soaking heat- skill and passion meeting and nursing a hunger for both of them. That he is allowed to do this, that Zenyatta gives over so eagerly and cries out for him, it sends a flush of pride blooming through his cheeks. 

He's never been bored with Zenyatta, or the toybox they keep in their bedroom closet. Filled with delights like an oscillating vibrator with a marshmallow-y tip that fits ever so nicely against Zen's shiny, erect clit. 

“That's seven,” Genji breathes, taking the toy away and pressing the heel of his hand against the raw, liquid softness of Zenyatta's core. Their shivers renew, not even making noise anymore, just trembling open-mouthed and rutting mindlessly. “So beautiful. I knew you could do it for me. Do you still want me to fuck you?” 

“Please,” Zenyatta answers reedily, reaching out with both hands and grabbing for him in a clumsy, almost sleepy gesture. 

Genji can't help but snicker as he checks the sling holding Zen's legs open and back. Their joint problems make it difficult to hold certain positions for long, and it's proven handy when either of them wants to lay back and really _take_ it for an extended period of time. “Still comfy? Colour?” 

“Green, and surprisingly yes.” Zenyatta chuckles, amused but eyes dark as Genji rolls on a condom and squirts another layer of lube between Zen's legs. The wetness makes a comical sound when Genji lands a gentle slap there, but the one from Zenyatta's throat is pure need, their whole body straining for more. 

Long, limber arms come around him as he rocks in slowly, almost having trouble staying inside, groaning when Zen opens for him. He mouths the splendid brown skin of Zenyatta's throat, shutting his eyes at the delicious clench around his cock and relishing every pleading sigh and oversensitive whine that's pushed from their chest. 

Zenyatta loves when it's too much, and Genji loves to beg and make a mess of his own stomach. They're well-suited for each other. They snuggle close after and enjoy the comedown, sometimes even doze off, but Genji never stays the night. 

He isn't Zenyatta's boyfriend. It was established as a casual, non-exclusive arrangement, and so it remains. 

Hanzo, McCree, and Angela sort-of know to varying degrees what he's up to, but not with who. Zenyatta moves in different circles and they have yet to run into each other in town. Genji's six-day work week might have something to do with that, but it's all for the best. The persistent, circular thoughts that steal him from sleep aren't reality. 

“Hello, stranger.” Genji pops a squat to set a dish of hard food on the little concrete slab outside Zen's patio door, scratching the ears of a friendly, fluffy calico. “You're new.” 

“A barn cat, I think.” Zenyatta comes to carefully kneel beside him with a water dish, the other neighbourhood strays mewing their way around the low fence. “She has kittens somewhere, by the looks of it. Maybe I should start getting wet food.” 

“They'll eat you out of house and home,” Genji snorts, watching a scraggly old grey one crawl right up on Zen's knees. “Why don't you just keep one?” 

“Maybe in the winter.” Zen smiles, scratching its belly. “I sort of like that they come and go by choice. I enjoy their independence.” 

Sometimes the sex is merely a dessert. Zenyatta teaches him to meditate with all the patience they show their students, or semi-illicitly reads whatever they've been recently tasked to edit. Mostly self-published novels and comics, but the occasional niche erotica is endlessly entertaining. Sometimes they simply talk about their days, both the good and the bad. 

“You've done so well,” Zen croons to him during a particularly lengthy massage, following both a two-wedding week at the restaurant and a session of shibari and pegging. “I'm very proud of you, Genji. You should be proud of yourself, too.” 

Genji can tell by the tone of Zen's texts what food he should bring. A period can be the difference between a box of snacks and still-hot comfort food. A sad Zenyatta cannot be abided, frowning and reticent after a disagreement with their own older brother. Genji's not good with words, but he is good at making tea and crawling into Zen's lap to cheer them up. 

“When did you get this, hm?” Zenyatta smiles at last, slipping their hands under Genji's clothes to reveal lace and silk. “Oh, you're so cute.” 

Genji hasn't been called cute since he was nineteen, he thinks. He spent too much of his twenties taking ecstasy and sucking dick to remember. Whatever the case, it does it for him. As does being laid out in under-the-bed restraints and a blindfold, a bullet vibe tracing along the edge of his glans as he gasps. “Oh my god, oh my god-” 

Zenyatta's deep, merry laugh is accompanied by the gentlest of caresses along the scars beneath his jaw. Genji hiccups as he tries to catch his breath. “Good boy.” 

He'll have to tell Zenyatta soon, too, and hope it will only mean a pause, a brief distance. But if they find someone better, he doesn't get a say, and that's fine. Zen deserves someone who can make them happy in every way, not just in bed. 

But that possibility is one of the few things keeping him from the cruel and irrational decision to tell no one and just bounce one day, leaving only sufficient notice as to avoid a wellness check from the cops. He doesn't actually want to abandon his family, job, or tenuous friendships, but the ordeal of being known makes it hard to get out of bed some mornings. 

“Way to be professional,” Hanzo smarts off at him after arguing his way into the bathroom one morning, only to find Genji piling concealer on an accidental, too-high hickey. 

“At least one of us is getting some,” Genji snarks back, avoiding his eyes in the mirror as he pops his contacts in. 

When his dishes get sent back, when the other cooks ask what his plans are and his only answer is 'work,' when family dinners feel transactional and filled with insinuations, Genji can still get on his bike on Sunday night, breathe, and pedal towards the release of not having to be that person for a little while. 

Even when the background noise of his brain combines daily personal failures into an irritating, inescapable loop, he openly craves the tranquility of submission. To let someone else decide whether he should feel pain or pleasure. To be taken care of and have it feel earned. 

“Very good.” Zen smiles down on him as he shudders after a light stroke of the crop. “Now, tell me what you want.” 

“More.” Genji arches his back in an attempt to show himself off and provoke Zen's arousal. 

“Hardly specific.” Another quick crack of the wrist, leaving the underside of Genji's thigh stinging. “Tell me what you _really_ want, don't be embarrassed.” 

“I really, really want to zig-a-zig-ah.” 

It takes Zenyatta a moment, but they lose it, breaking form and prodding Genji's chin with the heart-shaped crop as they laugh. “Clever pet, aren't you? I have to give it to you, you never fail to make me smile.” 

“That's all I really want, honestly.” Genji leans forward to nuzzle into Zenyatta's hand. 

“Hm, how sweet you are.” Zen catches his chin, scratching the beard he's let grow in. “But our desires matter equally, you know that. Go on, tell me what would please you best tonight.” 

The 'tonight' addendum lets Genji neatly sidestep the honesty tickling the back of his tongue. “Would you- ride my face, please?” 

“Hmm.” Zenyatta kneels slowly, sliding a hand between Genji's legs and groping almost innocently. Genji fidgets, hardening even more beneath those pretty, painted fingers. “Yes, I think I will.” 

His sigh of relief catches when Zen grabs his hair and tugs upwards so their eyes meet. Zen's gaze is so tender and full of want, he almost wants to cry. “Shall I finish your strokes first? I know how badly you wanted them.” 

Genji barely manages a verbal 'yes.' Eyes rolling back while he's thoroughly milked to completion, Zenyatta's weight balancing delicately above him all the while. That night, the humid air wins over his small aircon unit and Genji sleeps restlessly. Attempting to rock his mind to sleep with the thing he wants but holds just below the surface, never letting it come up for air. 

In the morning, him and Hanzo have an argument over him getting hair dye on the towels. It's really stupid. 

“Oh my god, I'll buy new ones! For fuck's sakes!” Genji loudly tosses a plastic cereal bowl into the dishrack. “I didn't realize you were having the Queen over for tea later, Jesus.” 

Hanzo makes that obnoxious tongue-click noise behind him. “Nice of you to buy something besides food.” 

Genji whirls around to find his brother tight-lipped and scowling at the wall. “What the hell does that mean?” 

“Anytime we need anything extra, I'm the one who pays for it,” Hanzo lips back, standing and grabbing his travel mug. “You work sixty hours a week, I wonder where the money goes. That's all.” 

Genji can taste the real meaning of his words. “Just what the fuck are you implying? It's my money, mind your fucking business! And don't come at me like _you're_ the one with some great social life!” 

“I wasn't implying- this is ridiculous.” Hanzo brushes him off, like a mosquito. “I'm late. Replace the goddamn towels.” 

The door shuts hard. Genji finishes the dishes in a huff. He just can't do a single fucking thing without commentary, of course. 

The dinner shift is scorching hot and bustling as usual. Mom took the day off for doctor's appointments in the next city. Wendy, one of the sous chefs and a granddaughter of the original owner, handles the orders fine. Except he forgot to refill his scrip and every single noise, every bump, every irrelevant voice lands against his skin like blackflies. His brain is pure static until one bad hold on a piece of salmon and the sharpness of a blade jams everything back into focus. 

“Oof, rookie mistake,” the new guy at the station beside him scoffs, recoiling from the blood as Genji's whisked away along with the ruined fish. 

“Yikes, that's deep.” Wendy grimaces after administering rapid first aid in the back by the small, cramped office where Dad does the books. “You need stitches, can you get to the ER by yourself?” 

“I'm fine,” Genji says through his teeth, the antiseptic still burning into the meat of his finger. 

Wendy shakes her shaved head and starts walking away. “I can't have you on the floor with that. It's okay, we're used to short staffing it, right?” 

“Isn't he on his bike?” He hears someone ask as Wendy rejoins the crew. 

“Oh, right! Genji?” 

He's already out the door. Sitting in the pale blue, germ-covered hell of the emergency room does nothing for his brain, nor does the nurse who sews him up and acts like he's ruining her day by needing medical care. 

He walks his bike through the length of construction along the curved road, finally pausing at a park bench to type out a text. At least the bandage is on his left hand. 

They've only ever seen each other on Mondays, breaking the cycle for illness or other pressing matters but never rescheduling. Genji feels needy, intrusive, but Zenyatta agrees so readily that he hurries to throw his leg over his bike and push off. 

Whether the “Oh, dear,” he's greeted with is for his face or his hand, Zen's too polite to elaborate. 

“That must smart.” Zen frowns, cradling his hand and bringing it up for a kiss, just far enough from the gauze. They've got such pretty red eyeliner on today. “Anything I can do?” 

Genji shakes his head. “Just wanna take my mind off it, sorry for bugging you.” 

“No need to apologize.” Zen runs their knuckles over his cheek in a way that has his lungs filling with cotton candy. They step into the kitchen and return with tea, looking so casual and cute in the loose-fitting yellow ensemble they wear while teaching yoga. “By the way, I finally took your advice the other day and started a blog of my own.” 

“Oh, that's cool!” Genji perks up, dragging himself out of his own head. “Any sponsorship deals yet?” 

“Goodness no,” Zen laughs, passing Genji his cup. “I'm not placing any expectations on it, it's just nice to write and edit my own thoughts for a change. It feels so strangely self-indulgent, I'll never be able to promote it.” 

“You should, I bet it's really cool.” Genji sips his drink, weighing risk on his tongue and crossing his ankles. “Will you let me read it?” 

“Of course.” Zenyatta's smile comes so sweet, slightly bashful, before refocusing their attention on Genji. “But first, what are we going to do with you?” 

The familiar rush floods him, but it's only a few drops on a parched tongue. Still, his body yearns forward. “Anything, as long as you touch me.” 

Zenyatta shakes their head fondly, hand coming around to cup the back of Genji's neck. The sliver of strong chest where their shirt hangs slightly open, the part of their soft lips, the galaxy of freckles on their bare arms- Genji would have it all. 

“I think we should keep tonight about you.” Zen's smile is the last thing he sees before he's kissed into never-never-land, their low voice humming against the corner of his lips. “I can tell you've been holding something back. Why don't you tell me, hm? You always have such _clever_ ideas.” 

Genji's eyes snap open as Zen kisses a path down to his neck, guiding him onto his back with the heat of their body. A knee brushing here, a hand on his chest, an arm bracketing him in. Every move sensual, meant to tease the truth from him. “Red.” 

Zenyatta recoils like a handgun, eyes wide with alarm. “What's the matter? Was it something I-” 

“It's not you, it's not you-” Genji's words tumble out as he jumps up, hand in his hair. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have- I'm not in the right headspace for this tonight. I'm sorry.” 

“Genji, wait!” Zenyatta pleads as he jogs to the front door and stuffs his feet into his shoes. Their knees must be bad today, their pace is slow, almost pained. “Let's talk about this. You don't need to-” 

Genji yanks the door shut behind him and jumps on his bike, tires scraping against the concrete walkway and onto the road. 

On the other side of town, his legs are burning and his mind is reeling, furious with itself. Zenyatta didn't deserve that. He's been shown nothing but kindness, patience, and repays it by acting like a complete fucking weirdo. An ass to the only person who looked forward to seeing him. He might have lost Zen in the fall anyway, but that would at least be for a good reason- 

No, it's just a joke he's playing on himself, a delusion. He's incapable of being anything more than what he's already become. 

_You won't change, you can't change. Not really-_

He can't even buy a beater car and drive himself there. His second DUI and accompanying accident left him virtually uninsurable. He's old enough to have greys and the beginnings of wrinkles, but he can't fucking drive. 

_-Ungrateful, selfish, and after all the excuses they made for you-_

He's supposed to be an adult, he's expected to participate in life like an adult. He's had ten times the help he deserves, yet he feels like he's hanging on by a thread. 

_-out of obligation, nothing more. You contribute nothing but-_

He stumbles on a curb cut and stops walking his bike to nowhere. He lifts his head to check if it's safe to cross, and finds the shiny new liquor store aglow in the dusk across the street. 

Lucky for him, the cashier is some bored, transplanted college kid who has no idea who he is. 

Birthday cake vodka might be the queen of junior prom booze, but the shots go down easy and it matches his maturity. One after another. It's a reflex, like a muscle spasm that goes on and on, the barest relief between heartbeats. He puts it away like he used to, until the bottle is near empty and bittersweet relief burns through him. 

His mother had once asked him mid-rant why when he got into trouble, he had to get in the most possible trouble. He didn't and still doesn't have a good answer, except that if he's already fucked, he might as well make the most of it. 

He'd shut his phone off on arriving home, glancing at the several texts and calls from Zen. The noise of tonight's poetry slam warbles up through the floorboards as he weeps messily into his pillow. Hanzo will be staying until everything's cleaned up. So long as Genji can ditch the bottle outside in the morning, he'll never know. 

The only thing anyone was proud of him for was finally not being a fuck-up, and he just had to go and ruin that too. 

Their parents risked everything to get them away. They were lucky, and all Genji could do was be young, stupid, and angry that he didn't have everything he wanted at the snap of his fingers anymore. Ended up in debt from classes he never went to, lost every job his parents talked him into, acted like a complete fucking brat all the while. 

In rehab, the counsellors tried to pin down the causes in his childhood, the intricate wedges driven between all four of them and the web of conflicting loyalties thrown over their heads. None of them could press a thread without catching the others' attentions, for better or for worse. Snipping it all clean only made things icier. He remembers Mom and Dad sleeping separate for nearly two years. 

He can't bring himself to go rooting around in those years anymore. Comparing memories with Hanzo once left him unable to trust his own version of reality. He almost misses having justifications for being filled with so much rage that it burned behind his eye like a cluster headache. He almost misses the kid in those pictures, although sometimes he has no idea who he is. 

Whether it's the pathetic sobs or the acrid, sugary liquor on an empty stomach, Genji isn't sure, but truly nothing reduces a man quite like vomiting up all your bad decisions. He just barely hears Hanzo come in, but Hanzo definitely hears him. Rapping on the door in an instant, asking if he's okay. Genji tries to answer, but painfully dry-heaves again. The pause is brief and tense. “I'm coming in.” 

Genji is helpless to stop him or hide the state of himself. Hanzo balks, eyes wide, McCree doing the same a step behind. He drops to his knees quicker than Genji thought he could on his prosthetics and grabs his face, brown eyes boring into his. “We need to get you to the hospital.” 

“ _No!_ ” Genji flails, grabbing onto his sleeves from where he's crumpled against the tub. “No hospital, please Hanzo please. I can't- I can't do this to them again, _please.”_

Hanzo shares a frayed look with McCree, who nods after a second, digging for his phone. “I'll call Angie.” 

Genji's sobs start anew. 

“Hm, alright.” Angela murmurs after checking him over thoroughly some ten minutes or an hour later. “Not alcohol poisoning, but he is very drunk, and dehydrated. Jesse, can you pass me the saline?” 

“They let you take these home or what?” He almost laughs while passing her an IV bag. 

“I'm teaching them to the students tomorrow, I'll just say I dropped one.” Angela turns his left arm over and starts lightly slapping the skin. “Ooo, good veins.” 

“Thanks, I made them myself,” Genji slurs. 

“This is no time for jokes!” Hanzo hisses, hovering around the doorway. 

“None of that,” Angela whispers, turning back to Genji with an all-too-generous smile. “What's your favourite animal?” 

“Uhh- a pangolin?” 

“Pangolin.” The bee-sting stab of a needle in the crease of his elbow. God, she's good. 

An empty shower curtain hook substitutes for an IV pole. As it runs wide open, Genji collects himself enough to relay every stupid, sordid detail, including the stitches which Angela briskly cleans and redresses. Judging by the glances shot between them, it doesn't entirely make sense, but it's enough to get Hanzo to stop pacing around with murder in his eyes. Zenyatta bears no blame for this. 

Satisfied, they refrain from questions for now. Angela removes the IV and McCree bends down to help him to his feet, no small task. “C'mon, up- you can do it, you're my special guy. There we go-” 

Genji crumples once he's lowered onto the couch. Out of all the times he's embarrassed and burdened the people around him, he's never felt quite so ashamed. Blubbering his sorry's doesn't fix anything, but he's not quite sober enough to stop. 

“Hey, hey, shh. It's okay.” Jesse takes a knee and smooths Genji's hair back from his sticky forehead. Hanzo's speaking with Angela in hushed tones in the kitchen. “Today's gone to shit, but it doesn't have to be this bad tomorrow, alright? Come see me when you dry out, I've got some fucking-off time with your name on it.” 

McCree and Angela exit while Genji throws an arm over his face. Head throbbing, stomach raw, and mind in disarray. He feels the couch shift beside him and his throat tightens and burns. He means to apologize properly, but the filter between his brain and his mouth hasn't quite reloaded. “Fuck, I'm sorry I'm such a shitty person. I don't wanna be.” 

Hanzo's hand comes to rest gingerly on his back. “You aren't a shitty person. You're a good person who's made some highly questionable decisions.” 

Hearing his own words parroted back at him years later would be mocking and snide from anyone else, but from Hanzo, it's an arrow of sincerity straight through his chest. He sniffs loudly and wipes his eyes, feeling grubby with sweat and the general ickiness a human body can produce. 

Hanzo nudges the bathroom wastebasket in front of him and sets a full water bottle on the ottoman. “Go to sleep, alright?” 

Genji mumbles his acquiescence, giving in to the oblivion of drunken sleep too easily. Waking up to profound acid reflux and Hanzo asleep at the other end of the couch only buries the knife deeper. 

“I called out for you, you have the flu.” Hanzo passes him a plate of nearly-burnt toast after he tumbles out of the bathroom and into his bed. 

The sunlight hurts too much to open his eyes. “You lied to Mom's face for me?” 

“I know you'd do the same for me, if you weren't so terrible at it.” He can hear Hanzo's faint smirk without seeing it. “You need to talk to this Zenyatta person, though. If you're this broken up over them, they deserve a proper explanation.” 

Genji's guts knot at the thought of what he'll find on his phone. “I know, I know. I will.” 

“Alright.” Hanzo pauses a moment, the floor creaking under his feet. “Do you need anything else?” 

Genji gently shakes his head. “No, I won't do anything stupid. I promise.” 

That's a sufficient guarantee for his brother, who quietly leaves after turning the aircon on. Genji lays abed a while longer, finally gathering his courage and deleting the missed calls. 

**ZT:** Genji, I don't know what's wrong but please let me know you're safe 

**ZT:** Genji? 

**ZT:** Please let me know you're alright, if nothing else. 

It takes him twenty minutes to compose a suitable responding text with a request to meet again to talk, if they're willing. Zenyatta replies, brief and crisp, and they set a date for tomorrow. He's just set his phone down and returned to Hanzo-style wallowing when he hears a knock and his father's voice. “Genji? Are you awake?” 

He pulls the thin sheet up to his eyebrows, heart in his throat. The bottle- where was the bottle? McCree or Hanzo would have gotten rid of it, probably. He hasn't showered, does he still smell like booze? There's something uniquely terrible about disappointing Dad, the one who always had his back and on some level refused to call him out on his bullshit. It was only in the downswing before rehab that they actually fought, and it had been horrible. 

A light tap on his door, he has to answer. “M'fine.” 

Sock footsteps approach. A rough, scarred hand reaches down to press against his forehead and he fights not to flinch away. “Hm, no fever. How are you feeling?” 

“Gross, but okay,” Genji replies into the pillow, over-enunciating. “I stopped for popcorn chicken last night, I think it's food poisoning.” 

“Tch, that place is a grease trap,” Sojiro tuts, a little of their old life showing. Genji hears him lift and set down the water bottle beside his bed. “I have a long class today, but if you need anything, call your brother, alright?” 

Genji agrees and stays frozen still until Sojiro's shoes echo on the stairs. Laying in bed feeling sorry for himself grows boring and hot, so he decides to attempt a late lunch. On the stove sits a small pot that isn't theirs, filled with still-warm miso. A sticky note on the lid bears a gestural sketch of a sparrow. 

Genji leans into the fridge and cries in jaw-clenched silence. Everyone is incredibly, unbelievably kind to him, and yet he's still so fucking unhappy. 

Mom insists on taking a second look at his hand the next day, but lunch shift otherwise goes by with refreshing normalcy. The ride to Zenyatta's flat feels too short and too long. Ironically, he centres himself the way Zen taught him before ringing the bell. 

They sit in the awkward formality of the little dining area beside the kitchen. Bringing food this time felt manipulative, so Genji settled on iced coffees from the doughnut place downtown, because caffeine is definitely what he needs right now. 

“I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am,” Genji starts, head ducked and his fingers digging into the hems of his purple shorts. “That was a really terrible way to handle things, and it was wrong to leave you in the dark like that.” 

“I appreciate your apology.” Zenyatta nods, more guarded than even when they first met. “It was quite upsetting, I was so worried about you.” 

“I know, and there's no excuse.” Genji swallows hard, longing for the easy pretend of their usual scripts. “I just panicked because, well, what I've been holding back is that I like you- I _really_ like you. You're wonderful, and I want more than- what we've had up to now.” 

A truncated version of the truth, but it's all he has the emotional fuel to offer for now. 

“Oh.” The sound is dislodged softly from Zenyatta's throat, and they shift in their chair. “Well of course I- I mean, we really set ourselves up for this, didn't we? Calling it casual doesn't necessarily make it casual.” 

That confirmation of a fifty-fifty possibility throws Genji's mind into focus and sends need spiralling through his nerves, an excruciating sense of elation. Zen continues while he flushes like a child. “But even if I didn't, why on Earth would you run away like that? Are you- you're not afraid of me, are you?” 

“Not a bit.” Not in the way Zenyatta means at least. He practiced all this last night when he told Hanzo his plans, polishing that rough draft in his head all day long. “But I can't be in a real relationship right now, I'm not a good enough person.” 

Zen's forehead tattoo bunches somewhat adorably when they frown. “Of course you are-” 

“Please, let me finish.” Genji holds up his hand, taking in a gusty breath before continuing. “I don't like who I am. I'm stuck in my head, and half the time I'm pissed off at nothing. I relapsed the other day- not just because of what happened with you, for a bunch of reasons. I got drunk because I couldn't handle it anymore.” 

Zen's expression crumples, and they reach across the round table, taking his hand so carefully. They had learned gradually about all of it, the addictions and charges and almost everything else, and they had still welcomed him into their life. They still had faith in him. “Oh, Genji, I'm so sorry.” 

“It's not- I wanted to tell you under less dramatic circumstances.” Genji squeezes back a little desperately, his voice wobbling and his eyes burning. “I was going to tell you when I got an apartment but- I'm taking a culinary program in the fall, five hours from here. I'm going back to therapy while I'm there. You and Hanzo are the only ones who know.” 

“A fresh start, what a wonderful idea.” Zenyatta's voice is nearly a whisper, their fingers so warm that his own begin to sweat. “But why the secrecy?” 

“I don't know if it'll work. I might relapse again, I might totally crash and burn. But I need to get better, at everything. And I need to do it for me.” Genji forces his chin up and meets Zen's eyes properly, voice strained. “If I let you be the reason I get better, it won't be sustainable, and it'll be completely unfair to you.” 

Zenyatta is silent a moment, considering, their expression changing minutely as the seconds tick by. At last, they squeeze Genji's hand again, sadness crystallized in their eyes. “I want to disagree with you. I care about you so much, I have for a while now and-” Voice cracking slightly, they curl one hand in front of their lips. “I should have been so angry with you the other day. But even now, I find myself wanting to hold you and make it better, wanting to- fix you, for lack of a better word.” 

Tears swell over the dams of Genji's lower lashes. “But you can't.” 

“But I can't.” Zenyatta repeats, smiling just a little. Their hands separate so they can brush their own tears away. “I thought it would be enough, you know. For both of us. That was selfish of me, to think we could continue like that.” 

“If that's your selfish, I'll take it any day.” A laugh, raw and weak. “You've been nothing but good to me, Zen. Seeing you has kept me going for a long time.” 

“And I enjoyed that, I think. Being- necessary on some level.” Zenyatta's fists tighten on the table, eyes gone red and reamy. A hard look Genji has never seen. “I think I might join you in seeking some self-reflection. Mondatta has been needling me lately, about giving too much of myself away- It seems it's worth examining.” 

Genji nods, a small chuckle huffing out of him. “Aren't older siblings the worst when they're right?” 

“Oh, completely insufferable!” Zenyatta agrees with a nose-scrunching grin. Their eyes meet again and they both give over to a mix of tears and laughter. They've used it to get around talking too often, but no one gets him like Zen. 

“I think it's best if we give each other space,” Genji adds after a few moments, as composed as he can manage. “Maybe when I'm back we can try again, as friends?” 

It sounds so flimsy to his ears, but Zenyatta nods soberly. “I think that's wise.” 

It's hard to keep his shoulders from shaking, one hand digging into the back of his neck. They're both practically hugging themselves on either side of the table. “Then why does this hurt so much?” 

Zenyatta, in their sweet, unpretentious way, smiles through their tears and sums it up neatly. “Because wise decisions are usually painful.” 

At the door they hug maybe too tightly, clinging to the wisps of their old, easy exchange. Zen is just the right height to lean forward and press a kiss to Genji's forehead in place of fumbling good-byes. It sears him like the kindest of brands. As he rides his bike past ditches full of blooming tiger lilies, Genji can still catch the sharp tang of Zenyatta's scent on his skin. 

He kicks off his shoes and retreats to his room and his phone like an angsty teen, not realizing Hanzo is home until he feels the mattress dip. “So, you two broke it off?” 

“Essentially.” Genji sits up and tries to put on a half-decent face. He's added more than enough stress to his brother's life this week. “I'm fine, it's just- god, it's all so fucking stupid.” 

Hanzo's arm comes to rest hesitantly across his shoulders. “It's not stupid.” 

Genji sucks in a shaky inhale, his chest feeling half-crushed. Hanzo doesn't do well with surprise hugs, so Genji lays his head on his shoulder instead, telegraphing his movements. Even though the humidity is climbing again, thickening the air, Hanzo sits still and quietly rubs his back for a good long while. 

The silence eventually gets to Hanzo, and he clears his throat, leaving his arm in place. “Do you- want to play Breath of the Wild?” 

Genji shuts his eyes for a second. “I would legitimately love nothing more.” 

They switch off playing whenever one of them gets hungry or bored, until a particular boss wears on them. Genji paints Hanzo's nails for him and Hanzo does his toes. It reminds him of when they were really young, when Genji was still sober most of the time and Hanzo was burning out trying to appease everyone at once. He's glad they can still have this. 

The next day, Mom locks up the office and leaves the others to finish cleaning up for the night. He follows her out to the parking lot, the two of them leaning on her car while she smokes her singular daily cigarette. The streetlights are obnoxiously bright overhead, the night sky sheathed in grey clouds. “God, I'm so tired, my eyes hurt.” She takes another drag and nods at him. “Why don't you stay over tonight? The painting's finally done, you can try out the new bathtub.” 

Giving her his six weeks' notice once they pull away from the restaurant doesn't take nearly as much courage as he thought it would, but her blasé reaction throws him off. “Ah, I figured as much.” 

“What? How?” 

“Your father saw the brochures in your room. He asked if you had said anything to me about it.” She glances at him. Everyone says their expressions are so similar, but Genji has a hard time reading her. “Why now? I'm sure you have enough hours for your Red Seal.” 

“Yeah, sure, but it's less about cooking and more the stuff behind it.” Genji gestures more to help his own coherence, since she's got her eyes on the fools hauling ass out of gas stations or subtly weaving over the line. “Sourcing ingredients, creating recipes, that kind of thing. Entrepreneurial-type shit.” He needlessly fixes his seatbelt. “Might be useful if you, y'know, wanted me to take over the restaurant at any point.” 

She sighs at that, her chapped lips thinning. “I'm sick to death of legacies. Do whatever you want, but do it for yourself.” 

Genji feels his jaw tense up. “But that is what I want.” 

“Then that's fine.” She offers a tired smile, her laugh lines softening. “I just want you to make your own choices. It's not like it was before, all your father and I want is for you two to be happy, healthy, and able to pay your bills.” She pauses for a thought. “And maybe go on a date once in a while? Neither of you are getting any younger, you know.” 

All Genji can do is laugh. 

The newly-remodelled bath is worth a lengthy soak. Deep enough to submerge himself to his chin, with jets that massage the kinks out of his back. He and Hanzo still keep toothbrushes and things here, little bookmarks to return to every so often. 

On his way to the guest room, Genji passes their bedroom and catches a glimpse through the cracked door. A soccer game plays on the small TV on their dresser, Mom watching intently in her robe while Dad sits behind her, combing out and braiding her hair as he's done almost every night of their marriage. 

The caved-in feeling returns to his chest. Being jealous of your own parents is weird, but despite everything, they're still the best example he has of what could be. 

Mom's voice floats over when he opens the creaky door. “Good night, Genji.” 

He clears the sadness cache from his throat before answering. “Good night.” 

In another enviable example of goodness, McCree offers his truck for the lengthy, music-blasting drive. He helps Genji strap his worldly possessions into the back, wrangle his mattress up the stairs, and gives him one of his truly outstanding hugs before he has to leave. “Call me anytime you need an ear, 'kay?” 

Genji scoffs, whacking him on the back. “Yeah, yeah.” 

“I mean it,” Jesse adds as they pull apart, fixing serious eyes on him. “I'd rather you wake me up at three a.m than sit and suffer alone. If I hear you're locked up or in the hospital from someone else, I'll come up here and punch you right in the taint.” 

“Not gonna happen, but thanks.” Genji gives a friendly shove to the closest person he has to a sponsor. “Give Peacekeeper lots of carrots from me, I don't want her to forget me.” 

Jesse's smile is solid enough to emotionally lean against for a moment. “Pft, she won't. She likes you the best.” 

A week of classes and labs proves the cost and legwork worthwhile. Challenging assignments bookended by trips to local markets, farms, and nearby festivals for the primary purpose of tasting everything in sight. More than half the class is over thirty, thank fuck, and most of them are pretty cool. 

Developing good study habits for the first time in his life is hard, but therapy is harder. Some days feel like snaking a tub drain, then drawing it back to examine the freed sludge and hair. His therapist is compassionate and reasonable beneath a gruff tone and grandpa-esque appearance, reminds him of the peer support guy who led their group sessions back in treatment. 

When the suggestion of two sessions a week is put forward, Genji goes home fractured. The only reasonable conclusion is that he must really be crazy. After all, what kind of person needs to go twice a week? He dumps a word salad on McCree via text, finds out that the answer is a lot of people, and elects to stop freaking out and try it. Not like it'll hurt, after all. 

In a much-needed coincidence, Hanzo sends him a picture later that evening. A pill bottle with a dolphin sticker on top- a system they'd established to stop mixing up their meds in the bathroom cabinet and making slightly-embarrassed calls to the pharmacist. 

**HS:** Old habits etc., hope everything is going well. 

Lucking into a great roommate proves maybe the best thing for his overall well-being. Lúcio is a sweetheart, considerate and stupidly easy to hang out with. Genji gets so comfortable binge-watching anime in his room most nights, he at one point falls asleep for a good three episodes, inadvertently atop the poor guy's arm. “Oh, shit- why didn't you wake me up?” 

Lúcio simply shrugs and smiles, a bowl of salt and vinegar chips balanced on his stomach. “Didn't bother me. Besides, you must have needed it.” 

Despite that, Genji still gets lonely sometimes. Really lonely. Or bored. Or just so tangled up in the past that he's walking around keyed up with no outlet. The mirage of nothing that comes from numbing it all away sits ever at the horizon line of his mind. He remembers once catching Hanzo doing push-ups after midnight and his sheepish explanation that if the urge to self-harm didn't go away, he would keep going until he tired himself out. 

Instead of push-ups, he runs. Even late at night, even as the snow falls, he slips quietly out the door and jogs with one earbud in. Music blaring, he runs until the pounding of his feet against the pavement sends zaps of electricity though his bones. Until his lungs burn and he can go back and sit in the dawn with whatever distress is plaguing him today. 

Between that and the pole fitness classes he takes with what little money he earns on workstudy, Genji expects to be thirsty for his own reflection by the time summer returns. 

Zenyatta likes his posts periodically, and he returns the double-tap acknowledgement. Never exchanging words, just signalling to each other that they're okay. Seeing Zen all dolled up for a night out hurts sometimes, that smile that seems to shine from their very soul even through a screen, but he's happy for them. They deserve everything. 

Genji returns home briefly for New Year's after Hanzo messages him asking if he's coming because their parents are worried about him, which really means Hanzo is worried about him. Genji's worried too, his brother still hasn't found a placeholder roommate. As the conversation slows, he finally just comes out and asks if Hanzo's doing okay handling the rent by himself. 

**HS:** It's all fine. Jesse's been staying over a lot so he's helped with groceries and such. 

**GS:** Oh cool 

**GS:** Wait 

**GS:** OMGGGGG 

**GS:** H A N Z O 

**HS:** Sorry, wasn't trying to keep secrets. It's a very recent thing, I was going to tell you once you came home. 

**GS:** Shut up and tell me everything rn 

His week at home is only marked by one argument with Mom, when she tries to shove cash at him. He does his best to explain himself instead of just shouting. She cedes, seeming impressed, but still fills the trunk with grocery bags before driving him back. “You didn't say no food.” 

And people wonder where he gets it from. 

Come January, he follows through on his resolution to fuck somebody without falling for them, just to make sure he still can. Several rounds with a smoking hot, relentlessly charming paramedic prove that hypothesis correct. God, if only his research project fucked him this good, he'd be finished already. 

“Thanks for letting me use your razor.” Jean-Baptiste sits on the edge of the bed and bends to kiss him politely. Genji sleepily palms his freshly-trimmed beard and makes him chuckle. “Do you have work today?” 

“Nnnope.” A stretch, a few pops. “You?” 

“Indeed, no rest for the wicked.” He smiles, drops another kiss on his lips, and ruffles his hair. “Enjoy your rest, then.” 

Genji drowses a little longer until the smell of pancakes leads him into the kitchen, his arms wrapping tight around Lúcio from behind as he rubs their scruffy cheeks together. “Aw, for me? You shouldn't have!” 

“Pft, get your own!” He playfully smacks Genji away with the spatula and goes back to flipping. “You want one or two?” 

As they eat, Lúcio peppers Baptiste-related questions into the conversation, visibly trying to appear casual. Genji lets it go on for a bit, at last grinning wolfishly at him. “Do you like him? I can totally hook you two up.” 

“No, no! I mean, yeah, he seems really nice and everything.” Lúcio rubs the back of his neck, all young and flustered. “It's not like- I wouldn't wanna make things awkward.” 

“Pft, don't worry. We're strictly just friends.” Genji waves a hand, surprised by the difference in the weight of those words. “He's a really sweet guy, I bet you two will get along great.” 

“Well,” Lúcio draws out the word, picking at his food. “Maybe we could all hang out some time? Does he like video games?” 

“He does! And he's a great kisser,” Genji smirks, sing-songing the last bit as he clears his dirty dishes away. 

“Dude, _stop.”_ Lúcio gripes, then holds his hand out as a censor bar. “And pull your friggin' boxers down, I don't need to see your under-cheek!” 

Genji invites Baptiste back the following week, then slips out for a tea and sends an expertly-written 'oops, ran into an old friend, be back later :)!' text while he's working in his notebook at the all-night café. On his return, he looks up from the street to see all the lights off, nearly tripping on Jean-Baptiste's shoes on his way through the narrow door. “And then?” 

“And then we made out a bunch and cuddled until I fell asleep.” Lúcio rubs a hand up and down his flushed face. “He gave me his number, how long should I wait to text him?” 

“More than twenty-four, but less than forty-eight hours.” Genji pauses in applying tiny frog stickers to Lúcio's thumbnail to administer a justified high-five while they snort-laugh. “Nicely done, my friend.” 

During his next session, Genji realizes mid-sentence that he's happy. Actually happy, like the world's opened up again. “So yeah, I'm basically the boyfriend fairy now. I just keep bringing people together!” 

“That's quite the superpower,” Dad laughs softly down the line. “Did you get the picture I sent you?” 

“Of the gashapon? Oh yeah, weird to see them in a thrift store. Someone must be clearing out their kid's room.” 

“Probably. There's so many at the mall now, a whole rack of those little blind boxes. You used to love collecting them.” A quiet hum, the distant scratching of pencil on paper. “You probably don't have time for things like that anymore.” 

Dad's tone is conversational, entirely innocent, but Genji nearly rolls off the couch from the sudden weight of the guilt. He asks about Dad's latest students and insists on making plans for something fun when he comes back, when what he really means is _I miss you, too._

He waits until the last minute to invite them to the R&D showcase, oddly conflicted. He's been wholly focused on himself for close to a year, ironically his only recourse to become less self-absorbed, and it feels weird to demand more attention. 

Not to mention he's a little nervous about the reception of his recipe, a variation on the first cheesecake he ever made. A treat for Hanzo after his top surgery, back when things were good. The first time he found himself completely absorbed in the pleasure of making something, hands cramping as it took three tries to legibly ice 'Congrats on the weight off your chest!' 

“Hold still.” Mom quickly wets her fingers and sweeps them through his hair. “There's one part that won't lay flat.” 

“That part has never laid flat, take it up with your genes.” Genji bats her hand away, shifting from foot to foot beside his display. The judges and other guests haven't arrived yet, and the pretty gallery room overlooking the alumni garden feels too big. “Thanks, for coming. I didn't want to make a big deal out of it.” 

“Of course it's a big deal.” She smiles, at once teasing and lightly chastising. Greyer now, but every bit as fierce and finely outfitted as she was back in Hanamura. “We're very proud of you, we didn't come all this way just for the free food.” 

Genji points behind her, drawing her attention to Dad and Hanzo standing off to the side in their suits, cheeks full and plates stacked high with hors d'oeuvres. “You sure about that?” 

She sighs, fond exasperation in the cherry red line of her mouth. “Well, I hope the cowboy knows how to cook.” 

Genji receives many compliments and a small ribbon. Neither the validating accolades or embittering failures of some of his classmates, but just enough to know this wasn't stupid. Just enough to remind him what he's capable of. 

With his lease wrapped up, a semi-cringeworthy thank-you card given to his therapist, and Lúcio in capable, generous hands, Genji kisses the anonymity of the city good-bye and returns to a shophouse apartment that finally feels like home. 

“Who ate all the ice cream?” Hanzo scowls, brandishing a tub containing less than a scoop of chocolate mint. 

Genji doesn't move from where he's sunning himself on the deck. “Who ate my best friend's ass?” 

Jesse perks up from his similar sprawl beside him. “Wait, I'm your best friend?” 

Hanzo grumbles and lets the screen door slam shut while Genji rubs a cool, soaked cloth across his face. “You have to ask?” 

“Aww, c'mere- no, I said c'mere!” Jesse wrangles him into a bear hug that escalates into a playful wrestling match neither of them bother to win for once, rolling back onto their towels in the soupy heat. “I missed you, y'know. Gets too quiet without you around.” 

Genji glances over at McCree, eyes shut in the dappled light of the sun sinking behind the birch trees in the adjacent empty lot, half-wishing it were tomorrow so they can ask each other about their days at work and go for a jump in the lake. “Yeah, same here.” 

He waits until McCree leaves to ask about the long cut he'd noticed peeking out of Hanzo's tank top sleeve. “I scratched it on a fence when I was helping Jesse with the horses yesterday.” A pause, a gruffer tone. “I'm being honest. I haven't done it in years now.” 

“I believe you. That's really good.” Genji picks at the plate of leftover-based stir fry on his lap. He decides to try some of the radical honesty stuff he's been working on alongside CBT. “I think I'm envious of you for the same reasons I feel protective of you.” 

Hanzo jerks his head up, shooting him a confused glare. “Envious? Of what, exactly?” 

“You're really put together, you aren't reckless with your emotions.” Genji stuffs another chunk of beef into his mouth, lips quirking to one side. “But at the same time, you're really good at hiding shit, so I worry about what you don't tell me.” 

Hanzo's lips pull tight as he frowns at his own food, forehead creasing. “That was- never the intended result.” 

“I know.” Genji reaches over and rubs his arm, and they go back to watching the creepy sci-fi cloning show Hanzo got him hooked on. 

His brother restarts the conversation unprompted some fifteen minutes later over a sink of dishes, as he often does after ordering his thoughts. “If anything, I'm envious of you. You have a much broader emotional palette, no one has to work to understand you.” A dismissive snort. “The only feelings I'm good at expressing are anger and exhaustion.” 

Genji shakes his head as he dries the big frying pan. “That's not true, you just show it in different ways. I understand you fine.” 

“Well of course you do, we grew up in the same house.” Hanzo scoffs, tinged with a faint smile. “It's embarrassing, but I had to practically throw myself at Jesse to get him to take the hint.” 

“But he was receptive, right?” 

The smile spreads as he rinses out the sink. “Oh yes, very.” 

Genji can't bring himself to tease Hanzo too much, since the message he wakes up to the next morning sends him straight over the moon. He tells Angela, who offers good luck and a pack of just-in-case condoms instead of advice. God, he's lucky. 

**ZT:** I noticed you're back in town. I hope the move went well. Would you like to come over sometime? Nothing intimate, just to catch up. 

“You're back at Hanabi, then?” Zenyatta asks as they ease themselves into the dining chairs, now relocated beside the back door where the gentle breeze smells of the harbour. 

“Yeah, there's always turnover so I got to jump straight in.” Genji blows on the tea so kindly prepared for him. “Mom's talking about training me for sous chef, she just doesn't want it to look like nepotism.” 

“Well, you're hardly under-qualified.” Zen chuckles, drumming the tips of their fingers on the table. “I'm quitting the yoga studio this week.” 

“Oh wow, really?” 

“Mhm, I've been working on setting up my own classes at the rec centre for a while.” Zenyatta takes a long drink from their own cup of jasmine. “It was nice to have something stable to fall back on, but the discrepancy between what was asked of me and how I was valued was growing. My life is relatively modest, I'm not worried.” 

Genji grins, enjoying the glimmer of pride in Zen's sunny expression. “I bet they'll lose all their customers to you.” 

“Well, I don't exactly want that.” 

“That's how it goes, though,” Genji chuckles. “You're too soft for business.” 

“Perhaps, but I can live with that.” Zenyatta laughs, lowering their eyes to their cup. “I must admit, I was partly inspired by you. Your drive to reclaim your life inspired me to follow suit, in a lot of ways.” 

“Oh, cool,” Genji replies stupidly, buying a pause with a sip. “I guess it's all cyclical, you inspired me in the first place.” 

Zenyatta's eyebrows arch slightly. “Really?” 

“Yeah, you're so- at ease with yourself.” Genji gestures somewhat frantically, searching for the right words he can't find in either of his languages. “You make it- being a good person, that is -look effortless. I know it isn't, but I just- really admire you for that.” 

“Ah, I see.” Zenyatta flushes faintly and Genji feels his chest ache. “You're good person too, though. I hope you've come to recognize that.” 

“Some days I don't,” Genji concedes, because emotionally decaying and pretending otherwise is what drove him to the edge in the first place. “But I don't feel as empty inside. There's so much to do in my life, I don't want to stay stuck the past anymore. I want to live it.” 

“I'm so glad.” Zenyatta beams and reaches out to clasp his wrist, their first contact in over a year. A moment of electricity before they stand and glide to the kitchenette to pour more tea. Genji follows a few steps behind. “Did you end up seeing anyone?” 

“Oh god no, I wasn't- just a few flings. Fun stuff.” Genji laughs and shakes his head, face feeling hot despite the cool evening rolling in. “What about you?” 

“Well, I tried dating around, had some fun of my own.” Zenyatta throws a cheeky smile over their shoulder, then turns back to the boiling kettle. “But I was always comparing. Perhaps it was too soon.” 

Genji braces himself against the fridge and wets his lips. “Zenyatta, can I be very honest with you?” 

Zen turns around at once, looking very concerned. “Of course, what is it?” 

“The truth is- what I didn't want to tell you before-” This is the hardest thing Genji's ever had to spit out in his life, and he absolutely cannot look Zenyatta in the eye. “After our scenes, I would go home and I'd always fantasize- I'd imagine laying with my head in your lap while you ran your fingers through my hair-” Catching his breath almost hurts, but he has to finish. “And told me that I was good, and that- that you loved me.” 

Zen sounds breathless when they manage to speak. “Oh. Oh, _Genji.”_

“So yeah, that's the completely mortifying, messed up truth!” Genji's laugh is half-manic. He rubs his eyes like he's trying to push them out the back of his skull, cheeks ablaze. “Please excuse me while I die.” 

To his surprise, Zen sounds frustrated, nearly mad as they close the distance between them. “Genji, for- I would have done that for you then.” Their hands come to rest, with heartbreaking hesitance, on Genji's upper arms. “I would still do it now.” 

Genji stares up, almost shocked by the raw emotion playing across Zen's lovely face, though it nearly mirrors his own. “I don't want to use you.” 

“There is a difference between loving and using,” Zenyatta insists kindly. Then their expression takes a mischievous turn, naked desire in their blown-out pupils as Genji's chin is caught between thumb and forefinger. “Please, allow me to show you.” 

He's never come so close to coming in his pants from only a kiss before. But, if he's learned nothing else from Zen, there's definitely a first time for everything. 

Tea forgotten, they wrap around each other, kissing until their lips swell. Genji pins Zen against the counter a bit too roughly and lays apologies across the beautiful cords of their neck, consumed by a hunger he hasn't known or named until now. If he is honest, he has been in love with Zenyatta almost from the beginning. Every inch of their warm skin, every story they've ever told, every beat of their heart. 

“Listen, I know- ah,” Zenyatta gasps against his ear, fingers tangled in his undyed hair and pulling sweetly when he nibbles. “I know we said no sex, but um-” 

Genji looks up expectantly. “Just the tip?” 

Zenyatta is lost in a fit of giggles, cupping Genji's cheeks and kissing his brow. “You are a delight.” 

“I'm not used to hearing that without sarcasm.” Genji laughs, nuzzling against Zen's jaw. “Are you stocked up? Because there's like, fifteen things I wanna do to you and most of them require lube.” 

“I am.” Their lips meet again, Zenyatta's tongue slipping inside briefly. “Oh, please-” 

Genji prides himself on not having to be told twice. He gathers Zenyatta against him, slips his hands just beneath their perfect ass, and uses his revived strength to blindly carry them to bed. They go at it rough and raw at first, like newlyweds finally permitted a moment alone. Unable to get close enough, they chase their climaxes until they leave each other shaky and pleased. 

“Oh, I'm so glad you're here,” Zenyatta breathes into his ear as they sprawl against the headboard, Genji stuck to Zen's front, petting each other wherever they can reach. “I daresay you've gotten even handsomer, it's almost criminal.” 

“And you're as gorgeous as ever.” Genji sits up a little clumsily, their limbs tangled. He traces his fingers teasingly over their soft nipples, feeling Zen shift as they stiffen, their pretty mouth parting. “God, just looking at you gets me so hot.” 

“I think you dropped the condoms on the floor,” Zen remarks, almost off-handed save the waver in their voice as Genji sucks at their chest. 

No sooner does he turn to go get them then he is captured from behind, Zen's hand tugging back his jaw and exposing his neck. His breath catches and his eyes shut, then Zenyatta speaks. “Do you still want this part?” 

“Yes,” Genji nearly whimpers, his skin alight again and sticking to the sweat-slick warmth of Zenyatta. Nimble fingers creep lower, grazing along his inner thigh where his cock hangs full and thick. “Please, I want all of you.” 

Adorable, muted laughter against his shoulder. The most teasing of kisses laid along the curve of his throat. Butter-soft cuffs clasped neatly around his wrists. “You remember how to ask permission, don't you, dear one?” 

Genji swallows hard and nods, heartbeat picking up as Zen manipulates him onto his back and lays him out in the centre of the bed. Staring until he squirms, not merely from arousal, but from the uncompromising affection pouring from Zenyatta's eyes. 

“Shh, I have you.” Zen's voice is almost dreamy as they stroke their palms over his sides, lowering themselves between his thighs and getting comfortable. “Now, let's see how good you can be.” 

Genji gives Zenyatta everything he has, begs for more even when he can't so much as hold himself up, until he falls asleep and awakens cradled in their arms. Laying surrounded by their solid, lissome body and inhaling the musk of their soft skin is a moment inside which he'd gladly spend eternity. 

Zenyatta has a youth martial arts class to teach, but they both conspire with kisses and promises of later to keep Genji from leaving until he absolutely has to. He walks his bike up the steep hill before mounting it and pedalling towards the bookshop, the still-cool morning air rushing past and raising goosebumps on his bare arms and legs. 

His dessert is on the menu as of today, he hopes someone orders it. Maybe Zen can try it when they come to family dinner.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! This story's been following me around for a while and I just had to get it all out and scratch a very particular emotional itch. Genji and Hanzo's recovery here is a slightly Hollywood take, but it was cathartic for me all the same. As well, I wanted to play in a new sandbox for a bit and write a small tribute to the touristy town I spend a lot of my summers in. 
> 
> I was aiming for porn with feelings but I think I ended up with the other way around, oh well. Hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> Fiction of any kind doesn't exist to provide moral lessons, but just to be clear- writing characters' choices isn't an endorsement of them. Please seek medical attention if you find yourself or a friend in Genji's situation, don't sleep it off. And if you're suffering, reach out, it's never too late. Take care, friends <3


End file.
